


Just in case

by JojaEvanslock



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Relationship, Fools in Love, Happy Ending, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Romantic Fluff, so much love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-07 12:43:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6805036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JojaEvanslock/pseuds/JojaEvanslock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock likes to pass his fingers all over John's face when they are lying together. Slowly. He likes to discover every up and down, every bump, every soft and rough place. He tries to remember every bit. He says is just in case he has to identify him with his eyes closed, but they both know that it's only for love</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just in case

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pascaler23](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pascaler23/gifts).



> Hi!
> 
> This is my first fanfic EVER
> 
> I posted it on [my Tumblr first](http://siacasoestasahi.tumblr.com/post/143878310714/just-in-case), but I don't want to loose it so I'll just put it here  
> The summary is even the headcanon with which this all started
> 
> I really hope you like it!  
> Feedback is always appreciated! 
> 
> (Just a note: english is not my first language, so any mistakes you see please let me know! thank you!)

Sherlock enters his bedroom with his dressing gown waving gracefully behind him. John is lying over the bed, with a blanket covering his feet, reading what looks like an epic novel. Sherlock throws himself next to his lover, with every look, sound and movement stating his boredom.

For a second, John looks at him by the corner of his eye, amused. Sherlock settles himself as close to him as he can, while looking at the book with an interested frown. John loves this, the coziness, the security with which Sherlock approaches him, like asking for permission but knowing for sure that the answer will be positive. Totally confident, but still very careful.

After no more than eight seconds, Sherlock feels bored again. He usually does. His body is asking for something to do, asking for instructions. Before he can finish pondering and processing the possibilities, his hands are moving on their own account, following what is now a safety procedure (or that’s how he call it, anyway), and starting to wander all over John’s face.

Sherlock started to do it to memorize everything, to retain between his braincells the information contained among the lines, colors and shapes of his lover’s face. He has told John that he does it just in case he has to identify him with his eyes closed, but they both know that now it’s only for love.

He reaches for the right temple of John with his middle finger, moving it slowly over his eyebrow. Every time he does this, the path is so much different than before that he needs to do it at least three times, back and forth, to understand the new pattern of hair. When he’s finished he fixes the brow back in order.

Slowly, Sherlock moves down his light touch from the temple to the jawline, following the clues of a scratchy one-day beard with two of his fingers. He counts, one by one, the five moles that are scattered on this side of John’s face. He loves them.

When he sees the dark and light brown spots he wishes he knew more about the sky, the universe, the stars, because he’s certain that what he has in front of him might be a constellation. He would never tell John about this, of course. It might sound silly for his ears. He can barely admit it to himself.

When he’s done with not just the jawline but the entire right cheek, he roams over that little path between his nose and lips. He’s fascinated when he realizes that there’s a new mark. A cut. Probably from shaving. Not more than two days old. He should probably start doing this more often. He glances up at John’s eyes with a complaining face, but he’s ignored. The book has his lover trapped.

Feeling okay with the fact that his wanderings are neither uncomfortable nor exciting, he continues his work around John’s mouth, reaching gradually for his chin. He likes to harden his touch in this part. Press, scratch, brush with fingertips and nails against the dichotomy of roughness and softness that he finds under the lower lip.

John moves his chin up and down trying to get away from Sherlock’s ministrations, but without disengaging completely from the book. He’s used to the procedure at this point of their relationship, but this part always gets him distracted. Sherlock knows that. And he likes it.

Sherlock stills John’s chin with his hand, and starts again with the gentle care. He can’t avoid grinning mischievously at the sight of the marks he left behind.

He goes up again, completing the circle around John’s mouth, swaying with the slight bumps of loose skin. With only the index finger he follows the curves on the nose, so slow and light that he can barely feel the signs of a broken nose, the signs of the time that the man received a hard punch trying to fix a soldier’s knee.

Sherlock continues his way up, through the bridge of the nose and between both brows. On the forehead he opens his hand, trying to take its entire surface with four fingers. John tilts his head a little to the left, not to scare him away, but just enough to be able to continue his reading. Reading, that has actually been on pause since a while. For two full minutes now. On page 84.

John feels reassured by Sherlock’s touch. He can feel his devotion in every graze. He can feel his love. Each time this happens his own eyes start to close a little because of the tenderness, and his mind drift away with no horizon at sight, just the slight swinging of the waves of warm care that hit his face.

The beauty of this area, according to Sherlock, is the portrait of the time and age that the wrinkles give away. Like the rings on the inside of a tree, he can count not only the 42 years of living (the 4 to 6 cycles of cell renovation) but the stories that they hold.

He passes his thumb over the deep ones bordering his brown, wishing he could make them go away. He sighs deeply, changing his mood. This kind of wrinkles form because of one thing, and one thing only: frowning.

They remind Sherlock of each time he has made John angry. He wonders who and what else is responsible for this. He doesn’t have to think much, though. Like lightning bolts, rapidly pass the images of Afghanistan, of Harry, of Moriarty, of frustrating cases, and the sudden tightness of his guts and heart impulse him forward, placing his lips over the painful view.

“One day”, he whispers, “one day I will make it up for you for everything that I’ve pull you through. I promise”

While he talks, he keeps his thumb covering the traces of fatigue and concern that have marked his lover countenance, looking vaguely at his own hand.

The doctor looked up immediately after the kiss. This is new for him. He had felt the worried touches over those wrinkles many times now, and had seen how the worry pass through Sherlock’s face each time, but it was never spoken. He never asked. Sherlock never talked. Not with words, anyway.

John closes his book, marked exactly on the page 84, places it on his side and reaches for the detective’s hands with the tranquil pace this moment requires.

“Hey, please, look at me”, he begs, smirking when he sees how Sherlock rolls his eyes with a dramatic sigh before locking them with his. “There are two things you need to know, to understand, acknowledge and never let go. First, my wrinkles are not because of you or anyone else on that matter, but a natural sign of the pass of time and the complexity of human emotion.”

“And second, even if they were your or anyone’s fault, I don’t mind them. In fact I love them. I might even need them. I might need to look them when I look myself in the mirror. You know why? Because they help me see all I have overcome. The good and the bad. They make me powerful. It’s the way my body is stating that what I -we- have experienced may never, ever, be erased or taken apart from me”. He sighs and places a kiss in Sherlock’s hand with such intent, that the detective loses his breath for three seconds. “Just like you”, finishes John with a shy smile.

Sherlock agilely sit up straight and grabs John’s face with both hands, covering his ears and cheeks.

“I love you”, he says, and kisses the man caged between his flesh and bones without waiting for an answer. He already knows what that would be.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you!!
> 
> All your comments, here or on [my Tumblr](http://siacasoestasahi.tumblr.com) , are always welcomed!  
> 


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